Chess
by JoySPC
Summary: In the game of love you can't win if you don't play.


Chess   
  
The usual disclaimer: They aren't mine. They belong to Bellisario and CBS. I'm only playing. Please don't sue me. I'm an academic with no money! This story is set in the seventh season.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Admiral A. J. Chegwidden settled his shoulders against the bar and watched Harm and Mac argue about which song to play on the juke box. Their heads were close together over its bubble top and their backs were to him where he stood across the room. They had been surprised when he had invited himself along .on this celebratory trip. He wondered sometimes if they thought he stuffed himself in some closet at HQ when he wasn't needed, or if he was a hologram like that doctor on that Star Trek show Budd watched all the time.  
  
There were Budd and Harriet, just arriving, leaning against each other laughing over some joke. Harm and Mac's argument was broken up in order to welcome them-and a good thing too. They had begun to contend as fiercely as they had over the strategy in the Simmons case this afternoon and at that rate they would have still been standing there until doomsday or beyond.  
  
*Would that have been such a bad thing?* his mind mocked. He loved the way her eyes sparked when she argued. He loved the clean strait line of her body as she drew herself up in preparation to firing off a devastating blast of logic. He loved that quirk of her lips that said she knew she had the high ground. She had that expression now, he could see even from where he stood. She turned to put her money in the slot and he knew whatever song came out next would be the one she wanted-Semper Fi.  
  
It was "I've Got Friends in Low Places." Harm looked pained but allowed himself to be dragged out on to the small dance floor with her. *She's his,* his mind informed him as he watched them exuberantly fall over each other's feet.   
  
*I know it,* he snapped back. This was one dance he was very familiar with. A merry turn around the floor with his conscience.  
  
*Idiot boy!* A biker who looked like a refugee from Easy Rider had asked Sarah to dance and Harm handed her off calmly and stepped back. Her power flowed around him while he acted as oblivious as a fish to a passing battle cruiser. For a moment , the Admiral contemplated Harmon Rabb as he stood, leaning on the juke box, watching Sarah Mackensie dance. *You're jealous, boy, admit it. Ha! Not likely-pot calling the kettle black, anyway.* They were like two knights at opposite ends of the chess board. Meanwhile the queen. . .  
  
*What do you really want? Do you want them to toss good sense in the ashcan. If you were him and he were you would you. . .?*  
  
*In a hot minute.* Harm had everything right now this moment. The curse of the young was not to recognize their opportunities. The curse of the old was to be too late. He thought suddenly of Marcella. According to Francesca's last telephone call she was pining away. Guilt not grief he judged. He had a sudden vision of her joining a convent, the veil a physical symbol of the invisible barrier that had always separated them. No matter how much he loved her, it hadn't been enough. She always had wanted safety above everything else. Be careful what you wish for. What did Sarah Mackensie wish for? Right now her hands rested lightly as flower petals on the black leather clad arms of her dance partner. He remembered touching those hands in that aborted almost moment at his party. He had been trying not to think of that. It made things easier. She had seemed drawn to him then and God knew what he had wanted at that moment and the rules be damned but. . .What did she really want? Harm, .surely. She didn't see he was hers already. Current flowed both ways. Was it that she didn't believe in her own power? Or was she afraid of it?   
  
They were all good at hiding. *I'm the best though. You can't track a seal unless he wants you too-point of honor.*  
  
*Honor. That brings us back to what you want A. J.*  
  
*I want to ask Sarah to dance.* Bud handed Harm a bottle of beer. He looked up and saw Chegwidden watching him. Their eyes met.  
  
*Your move, Flyboy,* thought Chegwidden. *God knows, life is short and my patience is almost up-unlike some of us. If I play, I play to win.*   
  
Harm raised the beer in salute and took a sip. Then he set the bottle on the floor and ambled out to cut in. 


End file.
